


Earth Girls Are Easy

by Siobhan_Schuyler



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Art School Era, Coffee, F/F, Genderswap, New York City, Roommates, girl!Gerard, lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-13
Updated: 2011-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-19 06:12:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siobhan_Schuyler/pseuds/Siobhan_Schuyler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her gaze travels around the room, over a hundred faces, and unerringly lands on Gee's, like some sort of inevitable tragedy. Something in her chest skips and squeezes, watching Gee smile, eyes on someone else, some other girl who'd rather talk about art than live it. Someone not worthy of Gee and her kind face and her expressive hands and the way she smokes too much and drinks too much and feels too much and cares about Lindsey much, much too little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Earth Girls Are Easy

Lindsey's last class of the day lets out twenty minutes early which is nothing short of a miracle. She grabs her stuff and rushes out, stops to pee and rinse out her coffee tumbler and touch up her lipstick before wrapping her scarf twice around her neck and heading out. New York's been under a bit of a cold snap this week so she stops at the Starbucks three blocks down for a venti soy whatever. Friday, man.

She grabs one for Gee too, something doubly sweet and extra hot so it stays warm all the way home, and stops by the door to dump two packets of Splenda into it. She lids it and takes a sip, carefully, so that there's the fire engine red imprint of her lips on the rim. She smiles, pleased, licking the saccharine taste from the corner of her mouth.

Two trains and a twelve-block walk later she's home and her travel mug is empty again, but Gee's coffee is still warm and full, sloshing in Lindsey's hand as she unlocks the door and spills inside, Doc Martins tracking slush on the welcome mat. It's cozy-warm in here and a little smelly, just the way she left it. Makes her want that cigarette she's been craving since she got on the L train.

Mikey wanders in just as she takes her heavy book bag off her shoulder to shrug out of her coat and hoodie. "Hey. Gee home?"

"Not yet," Mikey says into his Sidekick, then looks up to smile at her. "There's lo mein on the counter, I got too much of it."

Fuck, lo mein. Lindsey could go for a carton or seven of that. She dumps her layers and boots by the door and pads by him in her sock feet, pausing to peck him on the bony cheek. "Thanks, Mikey."

The lo mein is history as are two leftover eggrolls and half a carton of beef and broccoli when Gee finally comes home, bundled in her too-thin leather jacket, a ratty hat with plaid ear-flaps, and what looks like two of the many ugly scarves Lindsey has tried to knit, when she thought knitting was cool for a week. Lindsey greets her at the door for a hot/cold kiss, stamping her smile to the corner of Gee's more hesitant one. She leaves a smuge of red there, too.

*

Lindsey's watching the cherry of Gee's cigarette bob as Gee scarfs down a whole container of egg foo yung with a plastic fork, talking with her mouth full.

"And then Ray yanked open the door after him and was like, 'And don't even think of coming back before you've watched season two episode nine, JESUS' and then tried to slam the hydraulics door. The whole shop was really quiet for like ten seconds then everyone lost it. Ryan spilled his whole Big Gulp on a display of HeroClix." She giggles, this scratchy high-pitched titter. Lindsey's own laugh is a deep belly-laugh, giddy. She could listen to Gee talk about her day for hours.

Lindsey's fingers curl on the table so she doesn't reach for Gee's. She plucks a cigarette from Gee's crushed pack instead, fiddling with it without lighting it. Gee is still happily slurping egg and bean sprouts.

"So when do you wanna go to Gabe's tonight?"

There's a party, Mikey's been going on about it for days. Gee looks suddenly evasive, sticking a sliver of nail between her teeth.

"Uh, later I guess."

Lindsey shifts closer, the legs of her chair squeaking on the scuffed linoleum. "We could head out around ten?" she wheedles, and for some reason her voice has gotten softer, like she's afraid Gee might bolt, or say she's not going.

She says worse. Into her empty carton of egg foo yung and around the filter of cigarette.

"I'm actually meeting this girl Ruth I met at school. She's a second year art history major." Lindsey thinks she sees a small quirk of Gee's mouth, like how you think you might've spotted a rare bird, or a shadow out of the corner of your eye. Lindsey's heart sinks. Gee goes on, something syrupy and hesitantly hopeful in her mumble. "We're gonna meet for coffee then head to Gabe's together." She looks up at Lindsey and it's like a slap; Lindsey does her best not to flinch. "We'll see you there?"

"Yeah," Lindsey says, falsely light, the word squeezed out from between her two strangled breaths.

Gee grins and stands, dumping her takeout container into the trash and tossing the butt of her cigarette into the sink. "I'm gonna go shower."

Gee never showers. Not for anyone, anyway.

Lindsey sits back, links her fingers together in her lap, curling them tight until her short purple fingernails dig into her own palms. She stares at them so she doesn't have to stare at the still full, untouched Starbucks cup on the table, the tepid something doubly sweet with two Splenda in it and a red smear in the shape of a kiss.

*

It's the kind of party that starts out too big for itself and only gets more ambitious. By one AM Lindsey's well into her cups and other people's, leaning against the hallway wall hoping it holds her up among the thick sea of anonymous shoulders and sloshing red Solo cups that smack a little too much of high school. Which is appropriate because she's wearing the too-short schoolgirl skirt and the fuck-me fishnets, ripped at the knee an inch above her lace-up boot, and she's had her share of hands, male and female, try to find out what kind of underwear one wears with this kind of desperation.

She makes her way back to the living room, weaving through people, her shit-kickers making her as tall as most of the guys. She finds a few inches of couch next to Mikey, who's talking to this guy Bob about Pete Wentz's new band, some emo bullshit from Chicago. Lindsey sits back into the beat-up third-hand chintz that smells of nights just like this and tunes them out, crossing her legs at the knee and picking at the scab on her knee where her stocking's ripped.

Her gaze travels around the room, over a hundred faces, and unerringly lands on Gee's, like some sort of inevitable tragedy. Something in her chest skips and squeezes, watching Gee smile, eyes on someone else, some other girl who'd rather talk about art than live it. Someone not worthy of Gee and her kind face and her expressive hands and the way she smokes too much and drinks too much and feels too much and cares about Lindsey much, much too little.

Mikey elbows Lindsey in the ribs and his eyes ask if she's okay but she just shrugs him off, accepting a fresh drink into her old cup, the one with her name written crooked in Sharpie and the smudge of her lipstick on the rim.


End file.
